


The One with a Siren

by wherestheangel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sirens, based off a tumblr post, ish, my own special brand of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 14:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5378018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherestheangel/pseuds/wherestheangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So a tumblr post about sirens who appear as your true love led to this little ficlet. You can probably piece the rest together. ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One with a Siren

**Author's Note:**

> (the original post)  
> http://1940sdeancas.tumblr.com/post/120804513921/1940sdeancas-okay-but-what-about-an-episode
> 
> I'm also thinking about potentially doing a part 2 if there's enough interest in this :)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Also the title is a work in progress: suggestions at this point would be lovely)

  Dean leaned back in his chair and sighed for the third time in five minutes. “Please tell me you’ve got something, because I got nothing, zip, nada,” he whined, running a hand through his hair and ignoring the look of irritation his brother was currently sporting.

  “I might,” Sam muttered, continuing to focus on his computer screen without any indication that he was going to elaborate.

  Dean rolled his eyes and reached for the beer in front of him. He internally debated for a moment whether it was worth it to push his luck and ask for more information or to “be patient”. He shrugged to himself and gulped the entirety of the room-temperature liquid down without really deciding.

  Instead of returning to the book he had been uselessly sifting through for hours, he stood, stretched, and resolutely walked to the bed he had claimed two days prior when they had first gotten to this shitty ass motel in East Bumblefuck, Illinois. It was lumpy and kind of gross, but looked better than Sam’s, which was all that really mattered.

  After settling on top of the blankets, Dean looked forlornly towards the t.v. set in front of him, hoping it would clear his mind, though severely doubting it. This case was unsettling and the lack of progress definitely did not help his sense of unease. People were dying at an alarming rate with no real evidence as to how. The only connection that could be made between them were friends and family noticing a happy, lovesick quality to each victim the day leading up to their deaths. Which gave them, or at least Dean, literally nothing to go on.

  _Well, at the very least the poor bastards were probably getting laid_. Not the worst way to go he supposed. Hell, considering all the ways he had in fact died, going out like that would be most preferable.

  Dean flipped through every single channel twice and was left completely unsatisfied. He turned to the clock on the table beside him, which read 10:01 p.m., and his situation suddenly made much more sense. _There’s never anything worth watching at 10 on a Friday, idiot._

_Speaking of 10_ …. “Where the hell is Cas?”

  “I don’t know Dean, why don’t you call him?” Sam shot back, not even bothering to look away from his screen.

  “Geez, tough crowd tonight, eh?” Dean muttered to no one in particular. He did however, pull his phone out and hold the number 2 button down.

  A generic ringtone filled the room, causing Dean to roll his eyes again despite himself. “Seriously Cas? Why do I even bother-,” he grumbled as he snapped the phone shut and crossed his arms. He was comfortable enough with himself to know that he was pouting and to resolutely not give a fuck. 

  Sam stifled a snort from the table, but Dean heard it anyway.

  “I thought we had taught him well enough to not interfere with a man’s pie Sammy. Where did we go wrong?” Dean asked regretfully.

  At this, Sam did laugh. Fully and heartily. It was a decidedly nice change of pace for the evening.

  Dean smiled too, despite the fact that he had been mostly not joking. Pie is serious business, and is not to be fucked with. Cas should 100% know this by now. The only logical explanation was that Dean had not taught this lesson thoroughly enough, and had therefore failed in his duties to Cas. He would have to rectify it when the angel got back.

  A knock on the door pulled Dean from his thoughts, immediately putting him a little on edge. Cas was the only one who would be knocking, except he didn’t have to, for obvious reasons. Sam nodded to him in understanding as Dean stood and cocked his gun. He moved purposefully towards the door and glanced through the peephole.

  “It’s just Cas,” he said, somewhat confused. He tucked his gun away and unlocked the door, dismay overcoming Dean as he took in the scene before him.

  “The pie Cas, where is the pie? I mean how many times do I have to make it clear that pie is important before people start getting it? Not to mention the beer-”

  “Holy shit.” Sam’s voice interrupted Dean’s tirade and instantly put him on edge again. He instinctively took a few steps back toward his brother.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Jess?” Sam whispered, something pulling in Dean’s chest at the heartache behind the single word.

  But… that couldn’t be right. Sam was looking at Cas, not Jess. _Why would he think it’s her? Is Cas… using his mojo? What would possess him to do that? Is Sam seeing things again?_ Dean took a breath and slowed his mind down, focusing on the first issue at hand.

  “That’s not Jess,” Dean stated gently.

  Sam looked to him then, confusion and decade-old pain twisting his face into something that physically hurt Dean to look at.

  “Who is it?”

  “I already told you Sammy, it’s Cas.” And even as he softly answered his brother, Dean felt anger rise in the pit of his stomach at the sight of him. He looked lost and so much younger, more fragile, like the Sammy Dean used to let sleep in his bed when he was scared.

  “Stop whatever you’re doing, Cas” Dean growled, turning back towards his friend. His friend who hadn’t spoken a word yet. His friend who was currently staring at him like he would a meal. His friend who had silently shut the door and was genuinely starting to scare him a bit.

  He looked back to Sam, who seemed to have gained some insight into this bizarre situation, judging by how little of his prior expression remained. “Care sharing what the hell is going on here?”

  “I think we found what we were looking for Dean,” he answered simply, standing as he did so.

  Dean frowned, “I’m not following.”

  Sam looked wistfully towards Cas- the thing?- and began to move towards it. “Everything we’ve ever wanted or needed. That’s what you’re going to give us right?” he asked it as he approached.

  Cas nodded hungrily at Sam, and Dean’s stomach rolled. He never wanted to see Cas look like that again. It wasn’t him, didn’t fit his face right. A sudden thought hit him.

  “Why is he appearing as Cas to me and Jess to you?” Sam ignored the question and held his hand up to cup the thing’s face, which made something boil up in Dean, something he would vehemently deny was jealousy if asked.

  With one hand still tenderly touching the creature’s face, Sam was very suddenly shoving a silver blade hilt-deep into it’s chest. It died silently, anticlimactically even. And despite knowing instinctively that this was definitely not Cas, Dean couldn’t help but lose all the breath in his lungs like he had been the one stabbed.

  Sam let the body of the creature fall to the floor, where it continued to look like his friend. As Dean stared at the lifeless form, a well of something thick and heavy rushed up his throat and threatened to spill out. His body screamed with the wrongness of what he saw, his brain on the edge of panic despite himself. Unfortunately, Sam appeared to be fairing similarly.

  It took Dean a long time to calm himself and look away, and an even longer time to speak. “What was that?” he finally asked.

  “A type of siren,” Sam answered cautiously, sounding tired in every way possible.

  Dean whipped his head toward Sam, eyebrow raised dangerously high. “What type?”

  “Well, it appears to be one that presents as the person’s uh- true love is probably the best phrasing.”

  _Nope, not possible_. “Come again Sammy?”

  Sam shrugged, pointing towards his laptop. “It’s all there. What really gave it away was the fact that it wouldn’t talk. Other forms of sirens can speak normally, but this specific type can only sing, which means they often stay silent. And by appearing as your true love, they can generally get away with the silent part, at least until they’re uh- close enough. They’re probably what the classic siren myths are based on, truthfully.”

  Before Dean could respond, Sam began again, sensing his brother’s denial. “The other victims all seemed to be overly content with their love lives right before they bit the dust, right? And honestly, how else would I see Jess and you see Cas at the same time? The last siren we ran into appeared the same to both of us. It’s the only option I found that makes sense.”

  “Okay, I see your point, yes. But this one obviously got fucked up, because it showed me Cas,” Dean stated resolutely.

  The resulting bitch face he received did nothing to change his stance.

  “That’s not how it works Dean. It gets it _from_ you.”

  _Well, wasn’t that something special_. “Oh come on, it’s system can’t be 100% foolproof. I mean, it’s gotta be wrong right? I can’t be-“ _Oh my God am I in love with Cas?_

  Dean turned to look at his brother, wide eyed and confused.

  “Seriously dude? How oblivious are you?” Sam asked, exasperated and no longer trying to hide it.

  Instead of responding, Dean turned his gaze to the stained rug, his brain running in circles. Slowly, he looked back to the corpse on the floor, which still held Cas’ visage. The thought of losing him like that again was enough to make Dean tear his eyes away.

  _Okay, so there are definitely some feelings there, but what kind?_ His brain quickly supplied the brief jealousy he had felt towards his _own goddamn brother_ not twenty minutes prior. It brought up things like “I need you” and “I’d rather have you” and suddenly Dean wasn’t sure about anything.

  “Whoa,” was all he could get out.

  “Holy shit,” Sam started disbelievingly, “you seriously had no idea. Huh. Your aptitude for repression is even more impressive than I thought Dean, and that’s saying something. Way to outdo yourself.”

  Dean decidedly did not respond. Sam was right and he was kind of an idiot. An idiot who now needed to rethink literally the entirety of the past seven years. With apparently excruciating detail. _Fuck_.

  As if on cue, because _why the fuck not_ , Cas appeared right inside of the door, the sound of wings alerting the room’s other occupants. Dean looked up and saw confusion scrunch the angel’s features as he stared down at the siren’s body.

  “Dean?” the gravelly voice asked slowly.

  “Yes?”

  “Why is there a clone of you on the floor?”


End file.
